


The Man Behind The Curtain

by Malivrag



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Backstory, Gen, Stark Industries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-28 16:14:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19815868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malivrag/pseuds/Malivrag
Summary: Quentin Beck's life after Stark Industries, before Far From Home, is a real New York Story: a figment of the imagination, a play in the bright lights of Broadway, a lie, and above all else, a real work of art.





	The Man Behind The Curtain

_New York City._

_2024._

Quentin Beck finished his jog around Hudson River Park, pausing to stretch his calves while sucking air between his bared teeth. His shirt stuck to him, sticky and unwelcome. He briefly considered discarding it altogether, but he didn't feel like attracting more attention than necessary today. Already, some of the sunbathers reclining on the lawns have sat up to admire him, their sunglasses slipping down their noses. Quentin ignored them; he drank from his water bottle and headed towards 18th Street to catch the train.

He had gone for a run to clear his head, but as soon as he entered the subway car and found himself blasted with air conditioned, artificially stale air, Quentin's mind returned to his plans. His mind raced with ways to perfect his creations, to make unreality indistinguishable from reality. He thought of the surface of the water as seen from Chelsea Piers, the patterns in the surface that no computer program ever seemed to replicate _quite_ right. Everything had to be perfect -- he was about to pull off the greatest con of all time. It was an audacious plan worthy of him, Quentin thought. At last, something worthy of his genius. No longer would he be down in the shadows, ignored. Soon, everyone would listen to him and no one would ever, _ever_ look down on him again. Even the little people -- Guterman and Janice and Victoria -- some of his greatness would rub off on them, and therefore they, too, would be elevated. When he arrived at his stop, Quentin walked the last few blocks to his apartment oblivious to his surroundings, seeing without seeing, so lost in his own fantasies of the future that he would be the architect of.

"Hi Mr. Beck," squeaked the girl at his corner bodega when he stepped inside. She ran to greet him every day, always trying to smooth down her hair and straighten out her apron. Quentin graced her with a small smile. 

"How was your day today?" she asked him as she rang up his purchases.

"Phenomenal," he assured her. "And it's only going to get better."

Yes, Quentin reflected as he took the elevator to his apartment, he was finally going to come out of the shadows in which Tony Stark had hidden him. Once, Quentin had thought Stark Industries was the path to his own greatness, but now he saw how breathtakingly naive he had been -- Tony Stark never wanted to raise up someone of Quentin's caliber, someone who could quickly eclipse him. No, Tony had only held Quentin back. And though Stark's severance package had been generous, that money was only the smallest part of what Quentin would seize as rightfully his. No more boy-proteges, no more secretaries in tight skirts, no more yes-men and superheroes. Quentin hadn't needed Tony Stark, not really, and soon the whole world would know that Tony Stark had just been a brand that they'd been sold.

His phone buzzed. An email from William with some last minute adjustments to the Mexico plan. Quentin changed his shirt first, then sat down to answer. He grumbled a little when he saw the missed call. Teresa, a nice enough woman he intended to drop like a bad habit now that his plan was in effect. As their red-hot romance of three months' duration had begun to cool, Teresa had become more and more clingy, struggling to hold onto that which was slipping through her fingers.

"I know you," she'd told Quentin the last time they were in bed together. He could see his own reflection shining in her eyes. "I see through to the heart of you. The real you. I know you're a good man."

Well, what did Teresa know? He'd told her his name was Daniel Berkhart. She loved a phantom; a shadow. She took the blank canvas he'd provided her and projected onto him everything she wanted him to be. The same as it always was -- his lovers on their knees, praying to him. Him dissolving like smoke, coming and going as he pleased. 

Quentin was going to rewrite history, and soon they would all love him on his own terms. He would be a masterpiece of his own creation, his life would be his Ninth Symphony, and his name the signature he would etch onto the world.

Sighing with pleasure, Quentin put on his sunglasses and relaxed, a smile dancing across his face.


End file.
